A Table for Two , Please
1304 Words
Friday arrived like a long-awaited promise. After weeks of rushing through deadlines, whispering goodnights between yawns, and walking past each other in their shared space like strangers, Elina and Adrian finally had a night set aside.
No meetings.
No projects.
No interruptions.
Elina stood in front of the bedroom mirror, brushing soft waves into her hair. She’d slipped into a deep emerald dress — modest, but elegant, hugging her figure just enough to remind her that she was still more than a corporate robot. She added a small pair of gold hoops, a dab of red lipstick, and a spritz of vanilla perfume Adrian once said reminded him of their first dinner date.
When she stepped into the living room, Adrian was adjusting his cuffs. He turned — and paused.
“Wow.”
Elina smirked. “You’re just saying that because you haven’t seen me in anything besides oversized hoodies for two weeks.”
“I’m saying it because it’s true,” he said, walking over and offering his arm. “You look beautiful.”
She looped her hand through his. “You don’t look too bad yourself, Mr. Khalid.”
Their favorite Italian restaurant was nestled on a rooftop in Bangsar. A soft breeze floated through as they were led to a corner table, overlooking the glittering city skyline. Fairy lights twinkled above, and the distant sound of jazz music danced through the air.
Adrian pulled her chair out like he always did.
It felt… nostalgic.
Comfortable.
Right.
They ordered a bottle of wine, and for the first time in what felt like ages, they just talked — not about work, or campaign pitches, or the HR process. But about memories. About small things.
“Remember the trip to Langkawi?” Elina asked, grinning. “You almost threw up parasailing.”
“I did not almost throw up. I was being cautious.”
“You screamed.”
“I was surprised!”
“You screamed in my ear.”
Adrian laughed. “Okay, I screamed. But only because you started yelling, ‘Adrian, we’re going to die!’ like it was a horror movie.”
Elina laughed so hard she had to put her wine glass down.
The laughter softened the air between them. The tension that had built like invisible bricks began to crumble, one smile at a time.
But just as their plates arrived, Elina’s phone buzzed on the table.
She ignored it.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Adrian glanced down. “It’s okay, if you need to check it—”
“No,” she said firmly, locking the screen. “Tonight’s ours.”
He smiled.
But the buzzing persisted.
Curiosity won.
She peeked.
1 message from Mira:
Emergency. You’re trending. Call me NOW.
Her stomach dropped.
Adrian’s brows knitted. “Everything alright?”
Elina exhaled, her fingers trembling as she unlocked the phone.
Mira had sent a screenshot.
A viral thread on X (Twitter).
“You think workplace romance doesn’t come with favoritism? Let me tell you how the ‘golden girl’ of MY company climbed the ranks — with lip gloss and connections.”
Below it were blurred photos.
One of her and Adrian in the parking lot. Another of them leaving the rooftop weeks ago. And a third — worse — was a blurry close-up of Adrian holding her hand in the hallway.
Thousands of likes. Hundreds of retweets.
Speculations. Misogynistic comments. Accusations of sleeping her way to the top.
Adrian read over her shoulder, his face slowly paling.
“Who…?” Elina breathed. “How did someone—?”
“My guess?” he said, voice flat. “Someone inside.”
Her hands clenched in her lap. “This is character assassination. They have no proof.”
“They don’t need proof, Elina. The internet runs on assumptions.”
She looked up at him, panic surging. “This could ruin me.”
Adrian grabbed her hand. “Then we fight it. Together.”
She stared at him, overwhelmed. “But what if this blows back on you again? You only just stepped away from the last scandal. This will look like confirmation.”
“I don’t care,” he said. “I’ve already been through hell with the board. If I’m going to burn, I’d rather burn standing next to you.”
Tears threatened to fall.
But before she could speak, his phone buzzed too.
Message from Hana:
You and Elina need to come in first thing tomorrow. Damage control meeting with legal and PR. Bring everything.
Elina looked at him. “We’re going to lose everything, aren’t we?”
He shook his head. “No. Not everything. Not us.”
The next morning, the office felt like a war zone.
They arrived early, coffee in hand, and were ushered straight to the top floor. The meeting room was already filled — HR, the legal advisor, a representative from corporate PR, and Hana.
The room was thick with tension.
“First,” Hana began, her tone professional but not cold, “we need to state clearly: we’re not here to condemn anyone. We’re here to manage fallout.”
The PR rep added, “Elina, this situation is tricky. The public doesn’t have the full story, and unfortunately, the narrative being spread online makes you appear as a symbol of corporate privilege. That’s what’s gaining traction.”
Elina swallowed. “But it’s not true. I earned everything.”
“We know,” Hana said gently. “But public opinion doesn’t wait for fact-checking.”
The legal rep tapped a pen against the table. “There are two options: 1) Issue a joint statement with Adrian acknowledging a personal relationship but denying any preferential treatment; or 2) remain silent, and hope the fire burns out.”
Elina looked at Adrian.
His eyes were steady. “We speak up.”
“But that puts you back in the spotlight—”
“I’d rather face the fire than watch you be burned alone.”
That evening, a statement was released:
“In response to the recent circulation of personal images and accusations, we wish to clarify the following: our relationship began after a formal role reassignment. No professional privileges were extended due to this relationship. We stand by our work, our integrity, and our right to privacy.”
— Elina Amirah & Adrian Khalid
The backlash didn’t vanish overnight. But something shifted.
Some defended her — ex-colleagues, mentors, even clients who had seen her dedication firsthand.
Faris posted a tweet that went viral:
“Elina Amirah didn’t ‘rise through romance.’ She rose through nights we all left the office and she stayed. Through weekends most of us spent sleeping and she spent designing. You don’t have to like her, but respect the grind.”
The tides began to turn.
Slowly, but surely.
A few nights later, Adrian and Elina lay on the couch, the soft glow of a Netflix pause screen flickering across the room.
“Still trending?” he asked.
“Down to number 14,” she replied, scrolling.
“Progress.”
They lay in silence a while, her head on his chest, his hand playing with her fingers.
“You know,” she said softly, “I used to think love was supposed to be easy.”
He chuckled. “That’s before you met me.”
“No,” she said. “That was before I learned that real love is forged in fire.”
He turned to her. “And do you still want it?”
“With you?” she asked. “Always.”
He kissed her forehead. “Then let the world keep talking. As long as they remember one thing—”
“What?”
“That I’m the man who found you again… and I’m not letting go this time.”
To be continue..
- Writer
